by Tina Donahue
Not for weeks. A new boy in the kitchen had the girl’s eye. Beatriz was again invisible to her. “No. I wanted to ask you about the village closest to the castle.”
“East or west?”
She had no idea. “Which is the largest?”
“The west one.”
“Can work be found there?” She’d come to the point where she was ready to labor in the fields, hoping to prove herself more capable than a child.
“Who needs work?”
Beatriz didn’t want to reveal her plans, fearing Señora Cisneros might find out and let her go before she found a new position. “A woman I grew up with. On my last day off, I was on the road between the fields and chanced to see her again. Her skills would never be fine enough for the castle, but I thought she might find something in the village, on one of the peasants’ farms. Do you know of anyone who might need help?”
“She could work the patrón’s land. To hear others talk, he always needs someone for the crops or cattle.”
“The village would be better for her. Would work there be possible?”
“I suppose. The only way to be certain is for her to go there and ask around.”
* * * *
Two days later, Beatriz left at dawn with Yolanda’s map in hand. Yolanda couldn’t read or write, but she had an excellent memory and drew lines to show the road. Large X’s represented landmarks, including a copse of olive trees, an untended orange grove, and a small pond.
When Beatriz had asked Yolanda to create the map, she’d explained the drawing was for her friend. Yolanda hadn’t questioned the lie or looked the least suspicious.
Once past the castle gate and wall, Beatriz regretted not having eaten or taken food from the kitchen. She hadn’t wanted anyone to stop and question her as to where she’d spend her day off.
The sun was behind her, the morning pleasantly cool. She shuffled down the descending road. Her trip back would be far more arduous as the castle stood on the highest hill overseeing the valley, the day’s heat would be at its greatest, and she might be hungrier and thirstier than she’d been since coming here.
She checked the map to see how far the groves were, hoping to find a few oranges to eat. From what Yolanda had drawn, Beatriz wouldn’t reach the spot for an hour, perhaps more.
The road leveled off, leading past fields and vineyards. She hoped no one would see her passing and gossip with those at the castle. As far as she could tell, no workers toiled nearby.
The land stretched far beyond the point where she could see its end. Birds flew in and out of the wheat, this golden crop near harvest. She considered how much a sickle or scythe might weigh and if she’d be able to manage cutting grain for hours.
Her belly rumbled from hunger.
In order to eat, she’d have to withstand anything. Perhaps after weeks in a field, she’d no longer think about Tomás or her increasingly bleak future and would finally sleep.
A short distance into the journey, her lids grew heavy, the slumber she’d missed catching up with her. She craned her neck hoping to see the groves closer than what the map showed. To rest as she ate sweet fruit sounded like paradise.
Wheat fields, cork trees, and bushes stretched before her, offering no relief.
She tucked the map in one sleeve and fingered the rind in her other.
A noise ahead stopped her. She listened hard, unable to identify the rattling sound. Ahead, the road rose sharply, not showing what was on the other side. On instinct, she hid within tall bushes and waited.
A simply designed cart appeared with one wheel in front and two in back, pulled by a goat and directed by a young boy. His hat, tunic, hose, and bare feet marked him as a peasant.
Her stomach growled again until he neared, his cart heaped with dung, not food. The revolting odor slammed into her. She forced down swallow after swallow, hoping she wouldn’t be ill.
As he passed, the boy stared, then twisted around to keep looking at her. His frown said she was the oddest creature he’d ever witnessed.
When he disappeared over another hill, she returned to the road, her feet and calves aching from the climb and pitted terrain. She had to take care not to step the wrong way and twist her ankle.
The sun was high enough now to bear down on her back and neck. She’d braided her hair, wearing the coil on top without her servant cap. Unable to afford such a luxury, she owned no hat.
At the top of an incline, she wanted to drop to the ground. More fields, but no groves as far as she could see. Her throat was parched, limbs heavy. Ignoring her discomfort, she kept on until she came to a turn. She checked her map and slumped. The groves were still quite a distance.
Hot and tired, she spied trees some length past the road. Farther than she wanted to walk, but the relative seclusion and shade called to her for a short rest. Upon reaching the area, she sank to the ground, her back against a trunk, face damp with perspiration. Her lids slid down.
* * * *
A cramp in her shoulder stirred Beatriz from sleep. Her belly rumbled and ached, adding to her distress. To have to walk again without knowing if she’d find food overwhelmed her.
Fighting tears, she opened her eyes and flinched.
Tomás was on one knee at her side, his gelding tethered to the next tree. Without comment, he offered her a bota. She expected to taste wine, not cold milk. Pleased, she drank greedily. Once she’d finished, he handed her bread and beef from his alforjas.
Tears ran down her face. “Gracias.”
He peeled an orange.
Trying not to cry, she gobbled the fare he’d given her.
He offered her three orange slices and looked at the road. “Where are you heading?”
She didn’t want to tell him.
He separated another slice. “I can give you a ride.”
“I was just out walking.”
“This far, without food, drink, or even a hat?”
Her mouth trembled.
“You could have been hurt out here by Rufio or someone like him. You never thought of that?”
Feeling like a fool, she lowered her face.
He handed her boiled eggs and cheese, waiting patiently until she finished. On his feet, he looked down at her, the breeze tugging his hair, his noble station evident in his fine green doublet and robe. “Do you want to continue on your own or ride back with me?”
She didn’t want to walk another step. “With you.”
He offered his hand. Her belly fluttered at his warm, dry skin, her joy sinking when he released her quickly. With the bota and alforjas secured to the saddle, he helped her onto the gelding, untied the reins, and mounted behind her, his arm around her waist.
Unable to resist, she leaned into him, savoring his solid body, his powerful thighs hugging hers.
He wheeled the horse around and rode back. They traveled in silence, his arm keeping her close, her hand on his, their breaths and scents mingling.
She wanted to drown in his love, lose herself in his embrace, knowing neither was possible.
More swiftly than she would have liked, they neared the castle wall and gate.
Tomás stopped short of where his men stood guard. “Would you like to continue to the castle or dismount here?”
She never wanted to leave his side but hadn’t the right to a future with him. “It would be best if you leave me here.”
He held out his arm to help her dismount.
Once on the ground, she looked up. “Gracias, Tomás.”
He wheeled around and took the way they’d come, the horse’s hooves stirring up dust.
Chapter 9
Tomás rode hard to the village. What he guessed had been Beatriz’s destination.
Having her near him had nearly undone his restraint. He’d almost mentioned love once more, marriage, a family, their future together. He’d wanted to capture her mouth, losing himself in her softness and heat. Their last conversation kept him from making
any move. Not because he feared she’d hurt his pride again. He didn’t want to push her farther away.
He pressed his palm to his face, hoping to smell her scent. Her fragrance eluded him the same as she kept doing.
He’d been afraid to run her off today, so he’d followed at a distance to assure her safety. Men and animals could become unpredictable quickly. She’d seemed oblivious to danger, not even carrying a stick to protect herself, much less having a dagger or knife at the ready as the other servants would have. Bringing food and drink had also escaped her notice.
Given how she’d gobbled what he’d provided, she hadn’t bothered to eat prior to leaving the castle.
Every other servant would have gladly enjoyed the ample food he offered, especially before walking to the village. Since his talk with Yolanda, he’d learned the nearest community was more than a league away. Hardly an idle stroll, especially on an empty belly.
Giving Beatriz the food he’d packed was the easiest thing he’d ever done. Finding the right words to say escaped him.
They’d been lovers in every conceivable way, their intimacy exceeding what most couples probably experienced in a lifetime. Yet, meeting each other’s gaze, speaking from the heart, seemed to defeat them.
During these last weeks, he’d discussed the matter with Enrique and Fernando, joining them to celebrate Enrique and Sancha’s first child. A boy they’d named Bartolomé to honor Sancha’s late father.
When Tomás had confessed his love for Beatriz, a troubled glance had passed between his brothers. His outrage followed. “She isn’t an uneducated peasant. She can read and write as well as I can. Perhaps better. She has a lady’s manners.”
Fernando lifted his hands. “As long as you love her…”
Enrique elbowed Tomás. “How does she feel about you?”
He regretted having brought her up. He finally told them she’d refused his offer, along with her reasons.
“She sounds like Sancha,” Enrique said. “Especially the part about riches meaning nothing and no man ruling her.”
Fernando nodded. “I finally gave up trying to tame Isabella. She continues to reward me for backing off.”
“Sancha too. Our nights and days are filled with endless pleasure.”
“How wonderful for both of you,” Tomás said. “How did you get your women to the altar?”
Fernando spoke first. “With great difficulty. Isabella fought me every step of the way.”
“Same with Sancha.” Enrique clamped Tomás’s shoulder. “Your only choice is to wear her down as we did with our wives.”
If Beatriz didn’t flee before then.
The village was ahead, offering nothing more than mud huts, penned goats and pigs, along with chickens scurrying about. Peasants tended small patches of vegetables and grain. Children played in the road, their bare feet stirring up dust, tiny voices raised in laughter.
Goats and mules, along with crudely hewn carts, seemed to be the only means of transport. There weren’t any horses, a blacksmith, or a structure to indicate a baker or any other business in the area. There were so few people no commerce was necessary. Everyone could have bartered to get needed items.
Tomás couldn’t imagine these people knowing how to read and write or having a love for books. Unless they had a Bible, none had probably ever seen the printed word.
Surely she hadn’t wanted to come here to visit her mamá. Even if she had, she’d proven this had been too far for her to walk, as she’d once told him.
He dismounted and led his horse through the village. A sturdy man approached, sickle in hand, his face weather-beaten, clothes homespun. He inclined his head in greeting. “Patrón.”
“Buenas tardes. I heard a woman named Beatriz lives here or used to live here with her mamá. Can you point out the hut to me?”
“No one by that name lives here.”
“Now. What of the past?”
The peasant shook his head. “I grew up in the village and never knew a woman by that name.”
“Is there labor to be had here?”
“Only for family.” He gestured to the surrounding area. “Our community is simple as you can see. Many leave here to work at the castle.”
He gave the man a few coins for his trouble. “If your community needs better tools, let Nofre know.” Nofre was Tomás’s overseer and far more familiar with the land than him. “He can help.”
“Gracias, Patrón.”
A girl, surely no more three, ran up. She bumped into Tomás’s leg and squealed happily.
“No, no, no.” The peasant waved the child back. “Watch where you go.”
“No harm done.” Tomás patted the little girl’s head, picturing Beatriz at this age. Innocent of the world and the restrictions faced by status or being born female.
When Fernando and Enrique had first mentioned their wives’ desire for freedom even within marriage, Tomás hadn’t understood what they meant or how restrictive women found their lives. Meeting Beatriz had changed his view.
She had no transport, home, status, or means to earn a living and support her mamá without his or another man’s good will. Although, he was a fair master, she’d mentioned having to lie with him to keep her position.
He sensed she’d chosen this village to find work. Not because she was afraid he wouldn’t keep his word about staying away, but because she couldn’t endure their forced separation any more than he could. Their times together had been too sweet.
Today, she’d failed to reach her goal. Next week might be a different story if she walked to the village in the opposite direction.
The ache in his belly and chest returned, along with hopelessness. He couldn’t forbid her to leave. Nor could he lose her, which put him in an intolerable position.
His brothers had suggested he wear her down. Easy for them to say. Tomás had no idea how to do so. Or what magic he might need in order to convince her to become his.
* * * *
After Tomás had given her a ride, Beatriz suddenly ran into him everywhere. When she hauled linen down the halls, he’d approach from the opposite direction, Nuncio or Señora Cisneros always at his side, their voices low, keeping her from knowing what they discussed. Even when Beatriz was only inches away, Tomás kept his full focus on the servant he was with, not glancing at her.
Each time he disappeared from view, her heart cramped.
Wherever she dusted, he was soon there with other servants, ordering them to fix something, directing them to lug cabinets from one end of the room to the other, showing them where a new wall hanging should go. Not once did he look at her.
Whenever she was outside beating rugs, he showed up, telling his men where he wanted new flowers or bushes, what trees they had to prune.
She didn’t understand the change in him.
During their intimate moments, he’d confessed how he hated being a landowner, preferring to fight every Moor in Granada instead. Apparently, he’d gotten over his distaste for these tasks as he now spoke endlessly with the workers about what he required. Not once did he seem to notice she was also outside, even though she beat every rug with all her might. The whapping sounds were loud enough to scare several birds and caused the men to glance her way.
Tomás seemed immune to the noise or determined to pretend she didn’t exist.
More than once, she’d wanted to throw the carpet beater at him and confess her love, but kept her tongue and maintained an outward calm. The distance he kept between them was for the best even if she longed for a brief glance.
He never gave her one.
She began to yearn for time away to avoid seeing him.
On the afternoon before her day off, he was unexpectedly gone again, not showing up in the rooms she cleaned. Perhaps he’d tired of having the servants move cabinets and hang tapestries, or they’d run out of things to fix. She was dusting a windowsill when footfalls sounded in the hall. Beatriz didn’t pay much attent
ion until the steps neared and stopped.
She looked over.
Tomás stood in the hall, alone, and actually looked at her. Gone was the longing and passion she’d seen in times past. He regarded her with indifference, the way a noble lord would with any servant.
Her pulse stopped racing, melancholy setting in. “Patrón.”
He strode to her like the noble he was, his red doublet and robe complementing his beautiful hair. His cheeks, chin, and upper lip were bristly, his beard returning as it always did during the afternoon. Gray hose hugged his muscular calves and thighs to the point Beatriz had to keep from staring, longing for his nudity pressed against hers, bodies and mouths joined, their scents mingling.
“I have a task that needs doing. I thought of you.”
She hid her surprise, unable to imagine what task could have made him consider her or fail to go through Señora Cisneros. Unless… Maybe he needed a missive penned or wanted her to scour his agriculture books, pulling out needed portions to tell him the best time to prune trees and plant flowers.
She looked at him expectantly.
He glanced at the hall.
Her pulse quickened. Whatever he intended to say must be a secret he wanted kept between them. Perhaps he would ask her to write the epic poem at last. An innocent project, allowing them to share time as chaste friends…the only situation she could hope for at this point.
With no one in the hall listening to what went on in here, he faced her. “The harem needs tending. Rather than have Señora Cisneros clean again, I thought you might like to earn what I paid her, so you can use the funds for your mamá. You should be able to do a fine job, knowing the place as well as you do. Although I prefer the task done today, the hour is late. You can start tomorrow, early morning. Wait.” He frowned. “Your day off, I forgot. Surely, you have plans.”
Her cheeks stung at how casually he’d said she knew the harem. Of course, she did. She’d offered him her virginity there and he’d gladly accepted, treating her with passion and tenderness. A far cry from now.
When she didn’t comment, he looked past her. “If you plan to visit a village, I can let you use a mare or my carriage so you actually get to your destination.”